An Untimely End
by ForceForGood
Summary: "The first time I saw her, she was a warrior. The last time I saw her, she was my savior." What if Captain Janeway had been able to carry out her mission to capture the Maquis in the Badlands? How would the fates of the Voyager crewmembers change? A short A/U story told from Chakotay's point of view. Final chapter posted!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** An Untimely End

 **Description:** What if Captain Janeway had been able to carry out her mission to capture the Maquis in the Badlands? How would the fates of the Voyager crewmembers change? A Chakotay-POV A/U short story that does not match up with my other Voyager fanfics, for obvious reasons.

 **Rating:** T for violence. Mild language, no sex/nudity.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek or any of its characters, nor do I profit from them.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

The first time I saw her, she was a warrior.

* * *

Even through the blur and flicker of the Val Jean's malfunctioning viewscreen, Captain Kathryn Janeway makes an impression. Piercing blue eyes. Not a hair out of place. Lips pressed in a grim line.

"Captain Chakotay, you are ordered to power down your weapons and lower your shields. You are hereby charged with violation of Federation treaty. Your ship will be commandeered and you and your crew detained on Voyager until you are delivered to a tribunal, where you will be given a fair trial. Do you have any questions about the charges?"

"Surrender my ship, Captain?" I reply mildly. Around me, the other Maquis on the Val Jean are silent, riveted to the screen. They know this could mean the end for us, and I know they are sick at heart, thinking of their families back in the colonies. Only Tuvok is looking down at his controls, discreetly searching for a way to get us out of this mess, as I ordered him to do just before answering Voyager's hail. I'm still clinging to hope; the Vulcan has never failed to come through for me yet. "Why? I've done nothing wrong."

It isn't a lie. Joining the Maquis is the most correct decision I ever made. I only regret waiting so long to make it.

Those blue eyes narrow. "I have considerable evidence that says otherwise."

"What evidence?" I say.

One corner of her lips pulls up ever so slightly. "Beam aboard," she says, "and I'll show it to you."

"A tempting offer, Captain."

In a way, it is. I have never seen such a ship as Voyager. It must be a new design. Federation starships, in their ponderous immensity, usually struggle to navigate the plasma storms of the Badlands, but this small, sleek ship slipped through the gravimetric eddies like a seal through the ocean waves. It occurs to me that Starfleet probably wouldn't have wasted a state-of-the-art ship like this on an inexperienced captain. And yet Janeway looks relatively young, with no gray strands to match the ones that thread my hair. If we end up playing chicken, will she be the one to blink?

In another lifetime, I would have been eager to study the ship for myself, every inch of it, from stem to stern. Once I would have wished to captain such a ship. If I had stayed in Starfleet, I probably _would_ be captaining a Federation ship by now.

No matter. I have a ship of my own. It may be small, the technology outdated, my crew somewhat ragtag, but it makes up for it all with _heart_. I have no wish to see the Val Jean dangling from Voyager's tractor beam like a mouse hanging in a cat's claws.

"I suggest you comply quickly," Captain Janeway says, looking the very picture of calm on my flickering viewscreen, and yet there is a hint of steel in her voice. "We both have the safety of our crews to consider, Captain. I would prefer to make the transfer peacefully."

"I'm not only considering the safety of my crew," I say, and I don't bother to hide my aggravation with her assumptions. This is a sore point with me, because Starfleet officers never seem to _get_ it. "I'm also concerned about the safety of every _former_ Federation citizen currently living in territory that suddenly belongs to the Cardassians, a race long admired for their commitment to peace and tolerance."

I can see the flash in her eyes, and I know she longs to respond to my sarcasm, but it seems Captain Janeway has some self-control, because after a quick breath, all she says is:

"This is neither the time nor place to discuss politics, Captain. I have a duty to fulfill. You have sixty seconds to comply."

I cut off the communication. Wonderful. She's given us sixty seconds to escape. I've dealt with worse.

"Tuvok?" I say.

"I believe I have identified a weakness in their defenses," the Vulcan says. "Voyager may be more maneuverable than the average Federation starship, but she still cannot change direction as fast as a smaller ship. I suggest we use our deflector dish to ignite a plasma flare. They will be forced to adjust their shielding, and we will have time to accelerate, passing close under the saucer section where they will be unable to target us with phasers. By the time they adjust course, we will have a head start in our escape."

B'Elanna immediately objects, the heat rising in her cheeks. "If we accelerate too rapidly next to a plasma flare, we could create a feedback loop and completely lose power! Shields, warp drive, everything!"

Tuvok is implacable. "There are risks, but of all the scenarios I can foresee, this one has the greatest chance of success."

B'Elanna starts to argue, but I quickly cut her off. There's no time to hold a debate, only to make a decision, and the fact of the matter is, Tuvok has proved himself to be an excellent tactician, while B'Elanna is an engineer. A good captain respects the expertise of his subordinates.

Tuvok's plan should have worked.

It _would_ have worked, if not for the aeroshuttle.

I'd noticed it when we first scanned the ship: a small vessel tucked into the underside of Voyager's elongated saucer section. The kind that captains tend to use on an Away Mission when they want to make a better impression on someone than a little Type 2-shuttle can provide. My mind didn't linger on the aeroshuttle for long. I was more concerned about Voyager's phaser banks and torpedo launchers.

We do as Tuvok suggests. We ignite the plasma, we dive under Voyager, we punch the impulse engines. B'Elanna's fears were unwarranted; the ship's power holds as we begin to pull away from Voyager, threading through angry columns of plasma under the guidance of my hands on the helm. Voyager is turning in a slow majestic curve, while we scamper away like a field mouse.

I almost permit myself a sigh of relief but then, to our astonishment, our sensors show the aeroshuttle detaching from Voyager, then wheeling around like a hawk that just spotted its prey. In moments it is in pursuit.

B'Elanna pushes the engines as hard as they'll go, but the aeroshuttle swoops in front of us, dangerously close. For a second my heart leaps, and I reach for the phaser controls, realizing a ship of that type doesn't have aft weapons... and won't be able to withstand a barrage from us at this range.

But before I can shoot, in one smooth motion the aeroshuttle _flips over its vertical axis_ so that it's suddenly hanging upside-down relative to the Val Jean, facing directly at us, only hundreds of meters away.

It's a move so bold, so undisciplined, so foolhardy, that I know in an instant who is at the controls. There's only pilot I know who flies like that.

Unfortunately, I don't even have time to curse the name of Tom Paris before the aeroshuttle opens fire on us.

Our shields are already weakened by the burning plasma all around us. There's no time to maneuver, no time to react. The aeroshuttle takes down our impulse engines.

And we take the aeroshuttle down, as seconds later the Val Jean, coasting forward on momentum alone, clips one of its blunted wingtips. The screech of rending metal fills our ears, and more than one console overloads, popping hot sparks up into our faces. There is fire, shouting, pain, confusion, but not for long.

The cool blue transporter beam comes, and whisks us all away.

When we rematerialize, we're in a Cargo Bay, and we're surrounded by armed guards. Janeway was ready for this. She had it all planned out. A warrior, indeed.

I quickly scan the room and do a count. The transporter managed to save us all, my entire crew.

And Tom Paris, too.

He's lying on the deck, writhing and groaning in agony, his handsome face marred with plasma burns. There's a part of me that takes a dark pleasure in his pain - after all, he's just destroyed everything my crew and I have been fighting for - but there's another part of me, the echo of the Starfleet officer that was, that is shocked at the Maquis Chakotay's reaction. Tom Paris may be an annoying, immature, unprincipled showoff, but at the end of the day, he's still just a pathetic drunk who ruined his life with his own cowardice. I should have left him in that bar in Marseilles.

As the medics carry Paris away under the furious glare of B'Elanna Torres, I notice that Janeway actually gave him a uniform to wear. I wonder what prompted that. Surely she knew his history when she took him on as an informer. What was she trying to prove? What did she know that I didn't?

The guards begin to take us out one by one to be identified, searched, treated for injuries, and then returned to the Cargo Bay. Tuvok is the first they take out, but he isn't brought back, not for hours. I wonder about that. Are they interrogating him? Why him and not me? With that Vulcan constitution, surely he would not crack easily.

Finally, when everyone else has been processed, Tuvok walks back into the Cargo Bay.

Wearing a security uniform with lieutenant commander pips.

So that explains it. That's why Janeway was able to deploy the aeroshuttle so quickly. Probably Tuvok had surreptitiously opened a comm channel to Voyager while he was explaining his plan to me. She knew exactly what we were going to do next. And she'd managed to slip an agent right under my nose, weeks before she ever confronted me face to face. With a sinking feeling, I realize Janeway really _does_ have mountains of evidence against me, thanks to her spy.

I really hate that Vulcan, but I can't quite bring myself to hate Janeway.

She is clever, and she is brave.

A warrior, indeed.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** What do you think so far?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Thank you everyone for your reviews; I was encouraged by the responses!

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

The second time I saw her, she was my captor.

* * *

My crew is left under guard in the Cargo Bay while I'm taken to the Brig, presumably so I can't lead my crew in some kind of ill-conceived escape attempt. A few hours later, as I sit in my cell, I feel the plasma storm-induced shudders of the ship finally fade away, and I hear the warp drive power up. We've left the Badlands. Soon we'll be turned over to the authorities on Earth.

The outside door slides open, and the security guard straightens up when Captain Janeway strides into the room.

"Sir," the guard says smartly.

"Mr. Durst, despite Starfleet protocol, I don't like being called sir," she says in a matter-of-fact tone. "You may call me captain." It sounds like a well-rehearsed line, one she's given to subordinates many times.

"Sorry… Captain," Durst says, trying to hide his surprise.

She moves on to me. I've gotten to my feet on the other side of the forcefield. Strange, she isn't a particularly tall woman - I have some inches on her - but somehow she manages to look larger than life. It must be the heeled Starfleet boots, I tell myself.

"How is my crew?" I demand before she can say anything.

She looks at me steadily for a moment.

"Fine, for the most part," she answers at last. "We've had some trouble with the young Klingon woman. B'Elanna Torres. She's been... combative with my crew."

I'm not surprised. "B'Elanna has a hot temper," I acknowledge, "but she cools quickly. Her bark is worse than her bite."

Why am I telling her this? I suppose I want to protect B'Elanna from any overreactions on the part of Janeway's security team, but already I've said more than I should, and I don't know why.

"And my ship?" I quickly ask to change the subject.

"The Val Jean?" Captain Janeway says. "Damaged, but it may be salvageable. We're towing it along." She glances briefly around my cell. "As captain, I consider it my duty to personally ensure that prisoners aboard my ship receive appropriate care. Do you have any complaints about your treatment?"

Other than being deprived of my freedom? "No."

She nods. "Good."

"But I would like to make a request."

She looks wary. "What is it?"

I take a deep breath. "Onboard my ship, in the captain's quarters, there's a bundle wrapped in animal skins. It contains items that are sacred to me. I'd like to have it back."

She's already shaking her head. "I can't let you have personal items in here. I'm sure you understand the reasons why. If you need something to occupy your time, you may have a Starfleet-issue PADD."

"There's nothing in my medicine bundle that could be used as a weapon, or a communication device," I say steadily. "Federation law requires that you make reasonable accommodations for a prisoner's spiritual beliefs."

Janeway is silent for a long moment. Finally, she says, "I'll see what I can do."

"Is that your way of saying no, Captain?" I shoot back.

Her lips pucker slightly, and displeasure flashes in her eyes. "That's my way of saying, 'I'll see what I can do,' _Captain_."

"-because I much prefer blunt honesty to smooth lies," I continue.

Wry amusement brings the pitch of her voice up a step. "You and my fiance, both." A look of surprise crosses her face, and I realize that she, too, has said more than she meant to.

I'm not sure why I'm surprised that she's engaged. A woman like that, with such a striking personality, considerable talents, and some beauty, wouldn't have trouble attracting a man. Eventually I realize that what surprises me is that she isn't already married.

She drops her small white hands back down to her sides, and puts the mask of professionalism back on. "We'll arrive at Earth in six days," she says in a brisk business-like tone. "Please be assured your crew will be treated well in the interim."

I can't stop myself from saying it. "Yes, I'm sure you've given my old friends Tuvok and Paris the finest quarters on the ship."

Belatedly I realize Paris is probably still on his back in Sickbay, judging by the severity of his burns, but I don't take my words back. Am I bitter? Yes, I suppose I am. I spent so much time being paranoid about the Cardassians, I forgot to be paranoid about my own crew. Humiliation tends to make me grouchy.

Janeway isn't amused by my sarcasm. "Tuvok and Paris are on _my_ crew, not yours," she says, and there's a note in her voice I haven't heard before. I remember now one of the first things she said to me when Voyager first hailed the Val Jean: _We both have crews to protect. Let's make the transfer peacefully._ I realize this captain is unusually protective of her crew. Even possessive.

"And yes," she continues, "they'll both be rewarded for the considerable risks they undertook to bring you to justice."

"Bring me to justice?" I retort. "I joined the Maquis to _deliver_ justice. Why must Starfleet stand in our way?"

"That wasn't your burden to carry," she says.

Fury bubbles to the surface. "Try telling me that after the Cardassians kill _your_ father!"

"They _did_ kill my father!" she snaps back.

I'm taken aback. I thought her naivety meant that the Cardassian war had not yet touched her personally. I guess I was wrong.

"My father was a Starfleet admiral who designed a prototype ship meant to counteract the Cardassian threat," she says, her voice steely. "He was killed when the ship crashed into Tau Ceti Prime."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"It was never proved, but it's my belief that a Cardassian agent managed to sabotage the ship," she says more quietly. "So don't bother preaching to me about justice. I'm still waiting for it. But there are more things at stake in this conflict than my personal feelings."

"I'm sorry," I say again, and I mean it. Even though she's my captor, I know she isn't my enemy. Not really.

Her eyes look old and tired. "So am I," she says.

Janeway turns to go, but before she reaches the door, I say, "There's no ring."

She turns back. "I beg your pardon?"

My curiosity has gotten the better of me. "You said you were engaged. But you're not wearing a ring."

She stares at me, appalled by my audacity. The guard - Durst - looks like he wants to come rattle the bars of my cage personally to avenge his captain's honor. There's a tense silence, in which I see the spark in her blue eyes darken and recede until she looks as grim as the first moment I saw her.

"As you were," she says, her voice dropping almost as deep as a man's, and then she strides out without a backward glance.

I sit back down on the hard bed and look up at the ceiling. I've been imprisoned a few times before. As far as captors go, Janeway's pretty memorable.

I have a feeling I'm not going to see my medicine bundle again.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** This is the first time I've written a fanfic in first person. Do you think it works? I welcome any and all feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** I'm so pleased - and a little surprised - by the response to this story! Thank you everyone for your kind reviews.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

The third time I saw her, she was a diplomat.

* * *

No one is more surprised than I am when Captain Janeway returns to the Brig the very next day, holding my medicine bundle carefully in her hands.

I jump to my feet, waiting impatiently as she nods to today's guard, who taps at her controls and lowers the forcefield on my cell.

"I scanned the contents myself," Janeway says as she hands the bundle to me. "I'm going to permit you to take this, Captain, but I want you to give your word that you won't abuse my good will."

"You have it," I say. I wonder why she would even _trust_ my word. I'm just a no-good Maquis rebel in her eyes. Then again, she displayed a shocking level of trust toward that no-good rebel Tom Paris, too. Maybe naivety is her weakness. That little piece of information may come in handy later.

I cradle the medicine bundle in my hands, grateful to feel the shapes inside: the stone, and the wing, and the akoonah. Nothing missing. Janeway is more understanding than I thought.

"Your device is fascinating," she says as the guard reactivates the forcefield. "The images it sends… it was like a dream, only far more real. How does it work? Does it tap into brain waves, or-"

"You _used_ it?" I interrupt in shock. My akoonah - it's sacred. We don't even show the contents of our medicine bundle to family members, that's how seriously we take it. I knew someone would have to open the bundle to inspect it, but to turn the device _on_ …

"I had to make sure it was safe to give you," she says matter-of-factly. "It was remarkable… when I touched the device, it took me to a beautiful beach, just as the sun was rising." In the brightness of her eyes I can see the curious scientist that lies within every Starfleet officer. "And then-"

"Stop!" I interrupt her. "Don't tell me what animal you saw."

She looks surprised. "Why not?"

I sigh. Can I make her understand, or is she too much of a scientist? "What you saw was your animal guide. It's something like a… an advisor, or a counselor. It's a spirit that gives you guidance when you need it. It will appear only for you. If you speak of your experiences, you'll offend your animal guide."

Her mouth makes an o, and she doesn't immediately say anything. I _think_ she looks more intrigued than contemptuous. That's something, then. But why do I care what she thinks of my beliefs? I myself was contemptuous of them once. And she's a stranger to me, so her opinions don't matter.

Or they shouldn't.

Janeway takes a breath to speak, but I never find out what she was going to say next, because at that moment, the Red Alert goes off. Tuvok's voice is heard over the com. "Captain Janeway, please report to the Bridge."

She leaves at a trot without a parting glance for me. The guard bends her head over her console, making her preparations for Red Alert. I know there will be another guard arriving soon, to help contain me in case a power outage knocks out the forcefield. I tuck my medicine bundle safely under the mattress and then sit down on the bed, wedging myself into the corner as best as I can while bracing my hands against the walls. If someone opens fire on Voyager, things could get real uncomfortable real fast in here.

But after the second guard arrives, the minutes tick by, and no blows rock the ship. All that happens is that I hear the warp engines power down.

More time passes. Then the guard's console beeps an alert, and she looks at the readout and then unexpectedly deactivates my forcefield.

"Come with us," she says, and the two armed guards escort me out of the Brig and down the corridor. Red lights are flashing at regular intervals, but still there is no weapons fire. We get in the turbolift, and as it takes us up to the Bridge the guards cuff my hands behind my back. Why didn't they do that back in the Brig? They must have been instructed to do it this way; Tuvok doesn't seem the type to permit incompetence under his command.

"Speak when you're spoken to, and not at any other time," the woman tells me briefly.

The doors slide open, and I'm taken onto the Bridge, past Tuvok standing impassively at Tactical. Captain Janeway is standing in front of the captain's chair, accompanied by an older man in a red command uniform; her First Officer, presumably. The man gives me a cold stare as I'm marched past him and placed in the center of the Bridge, facing the viewscreen. Guess he's not a fan of the Maquis.

And when I look up at the viewscreen, who do I see but my old friend Gul Evek?

The Cardassian's serpentine features pull into a grimace when he sees me. The feeling's pretty mutual. I guess he isn't too happy about the damage his ship took a few days ago when he failed to blow us to smithereens in the Badlands.

"As you can see, Gul Evek," Janeway says, with a subtly hard edge to her voice, "we are transporting the crew of the Val Jean to Earth, where they will be charged with violating the Cardassian-Federation treaty. Since you and I are both eager to see justice done, I'm sure you won't mind if we take our leave of you now and resume our journey."

"Actually, if you don't mind, Captain, I'd like to beam over several of my men to accompany you," Evek says. "This man is dangerous; he and his crew have destroyed a number of Cardassian facilities, and they are personally responsible for the deaths of eight of my crew. You're going to need our assistance to transport such dangerous terrorists."

Only eight? I confess myself disappointed. I thought we had taken out at least a dozen.

Janeway's smile is mask-like. "A very generous offer, Gul Evek, but I assure you, my crew is more than capable of keeping the Maquis secure."

"Are they?" Gul Evek said. "Well, far be it from me to criticize your crew, Captain, but the fact of the matter is, Starfleet has been promising for _years_ that they would handle the Maquis problem, and yet our ships are still being harried from here to the Badlands. It seems Starfleet's methods in controlling the Maquis leave something to be desired. Better let my men accompany you to Sector 001, just to be safe."

"Unnecessary. You have my word of honor that the Maquis on my ship will remain in custody until I hand them over to the authorities on Earth."

"You have _me_ convinced, of course, Captain," Evek says smoothly, "but unfortunately, my superiors will need a little more persuasion. Some of them - overly paranoid due to this long conflict, perhaps - have their doubts about whether Starfleet is trying as hard as it could to stop the Maquis. Some of them even suggest that Starfleet is harboring the Maquis, assisting them with information and weapons, and arresting them only to placate us until they later release the prisoners to wreak further havoc on our Empire. Now, _I_ don't believe that for a moment, but my superiors require more than promises. If you will not permit an escort, then I will simply have to find some other way to keep an eye on you."

Two spots of color appear on Janeway's cheeks. "You know the terms of the treaty as well as I do, Evek. If your ship follows us into uncontested Federation space, you know what will happen."

Evek looks wounded. "There's no need for threats, Captain. I am a man of honor. Give me credit for that."

Gul Evek terminates the communication. There's a moment of uneasy silence on the Bridge. Janeway is looking at me with more than a little consternation.

"How the hell did they know where to find us?" she says. "The Vetar isn't known to patrol this area, and we haven't gotten within scanning distance of any other Cardassian ships since we picked you up."

"Surely you're not accusing _me_ of giving Cardassians information?" I say pointedly.

"If it suited your purpose," her First Officer says, his lip curling in disgust.

"My only purpose is to kill Cardassians," I say bluntly. The man doesn't like that a bit, I can see. You just can't win with some people. Can't help Cardassians, can't kill them, can't do anything but bow to their whims Federation-style, apparently.

Janeway's in no mood to continue the conversation. With a wave of her hand, she dismisses me, and the guards march me back down to the Brig. Home, sweet home. I'm beginning to get fond of this little 8-by-8 cell.

I lay back on the bed and think about Janeway's diplomacy. It's been a long time since I've seen anyone even try such tactics. In the Maquis, you don't have the luxury of chit-chat. It's kill or be killed. But the old idealistic Chakotay deep inside me stirs, like a bear threatening to come out of hibernation. When I graduated from the Academy, I specifically angled for posts that would put me under the command of diplomacy-minded officers. None of those hair-trigger firebrand captains for me. Once upon a time, I would have itched to work with someone like Janeway.

But there's no going back. I'll never wear a uniform again. And I don't want to.

Do I?

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** What do you think will happen next? Share your thoughts in the review box!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** There was a technical problem with the last time I posted a chapter, and I think no email notifications were sent out as a result, so make sure you have actually read chapter 3 before you start this one! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed my story!

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

The last time I saw her, she was my savior.

* * *

There's no warning this time. The Red Alert doesn't even sound until after the fact.

The impact is so powerful that it knocks me off my bed and I roll into the forcefield, getting a powerful shock for a wake-up call. I lay there for a breathless moment, stunned and disoriented. On the other side of the forcefield, the security guard - it's Durst again - painfully gets up from where he has been flung against the bulkhead.

The lights flicker erratically until the auxiliary power kicks in, just as the Red Alert finally goes off.

Durst scrambles back over to his station, his eyes rapidly scanning the readouts there.

"What's happening?" I ask him.

He doesn't have to answer me, but he does.

"It's the Vetar," he says. "We're under attack!"

 _Gul Evek._ Apparently my arrest isn't good enough for him. Is he really so desperate to kill me that he would engage a Federation starship to get at me?

No. Much as I would like to think the Cardassians see me as that big of a threat, I know immediately that this can't be it. After years of cold war with the Federation, it would be foolhardy for the Cardassians to launch an unprovoked attack against a starship just to get at one man, or even one crew. There has to be something else going on here. Something I'm not seeing.

Another massive blow rocks the ship, but this time I'm ready, braced in the corner, and I manage to stay upright. When the inertial dampeners stabilize, I realize Voyager's warp engines are silent. The attack must have knocked us out of warp. I wonder how the Cardassians managed to track us. Surely Janeway was smart enough to alter course as soon as the Vetar left scanning range yesterday.

Another security officer arrives to back up Durst. If the auxiliary power fails and my forcefield goes down, the last thing they want is a Maquis prisoner running around loose on the ship.

I can only imagine what Janeway's thinking right now: _Do we shoot back? Try to hail them? Try to escape?_ A violent encounter at this stage is going to be devastating to diplomatic relations, no matter who is actually at fault. The Cardassians are not exactly known for playing fair, in battle or at the bargaining table.

Then I hear the distinctive whump-whump-whump of Voyager's torpedo launchers. Apparently Janeway isn't going to take this lying down. She isn't as naive as I thought.

More blows rattle the ship. The Vetar is hitting us pretty hard. I hate this feeling of helplessness and I desperately wish I could be on the Bridge right now. I know a few tricks for targeting Cardassian ships… assuming anyone on the Bridge would even listen to my advice. They don't trust me any more than they trust the Cardassians.

 _BOOM!_

I _feel_ the next concussion more than I hear it. It shakes me to my very bones, and through the wall of reverberation crashing through my head I can hear the tenor screech of rending metal, very much like the last thing I heard on the Val Jean before Voyager beamed us away. Less than a second later, the shock of the impact rumbles through the room. Despite being braced, my guards and I all lose our footing and tumble to the deck.

When I get back on my feet, the auxiliary lights are flickering and black smoke is pouring in through the vents in the ceiling. It's impossible not to notice that the room is growing hot, and the acrid smell of melted tritanium is heavy in the air. Durst and the other guard share alarmed looks. They guess what I guess: that a torpedo has likely pierced the hull, and dangerously close to us.

A voice comes on over the intercom and confirms our worst fears. "This is Lieutenant Commander Cavit. Evacuate Decks 7 and 8. Repeat, evacuate Decks 7 and 8. We've lost shielding in that section!"

My guards don't hesitate. In moments they have my forcefield down and the door unsealed, and they pull me out of my cell, leading me toward the door. I wonder what alternate destination they have in mind for me, and if it will be any safer than here.

I never find out. There's another bone-shaking impact on the hull, the room tilts like a carnival ride, and the three of us go flying.

I slam into a bulkhead, shoulder-first, but instead of falling back down to the deck, I ricochet _upwards_ and bump against the ceiling. My stomach lurches wildly as I flail around and it takes me a moment to understand that the artificial gravity has failed. We're in free-fall.

My guards are still tumbling out of control in mid-air when I bounce down against the security console and manage to get a grip on the edge, halting my momentum.

I don't even hesitate. Chances like this don't come along every day. I launch myself toward the door, and since they've already unsealed it, it helpfully slides open for me as I float through.

As I escape, Durst fires a phaser at me through the smoky air. But he isn't stationary, or even anchored to any surface, and I know from experience how hard it is to aim accurately in those conditions. The beam misses me by a meter, and then I'm out the door, propelling myself rapidly through the air by pushing off the bulkheads. The zero-G conditions are making me feel nauseated, but I'm in too much of a hurry to care.

The corridor is empty, but I know that won't last for long. I propel myself head-first to the first hatch I see, pull it open, and maneuver my body through.

It's cramped inside, but with so many hand-holds within reach, it's actually easier to reorient myself here than it was in the corridor. I already know from the Val Jean's initial scan of Voyager that the Cargo Bay is three decks up from here, so I make my way to the vertical tube and get myself into position. I push off a ladder rung with my feet, and now I'm soaring rapidly in the direction that used to be _up_ , only lightly touching bulkheads with my fingertips now and then to fine-tune my vector.

Durst and the other guard will be in pursuit by now, and calling for backup. I just hope they assume I'm heading for the transporter room or the shuttlebay, the obvious choices. They don't know me well enough to know that I can't leave the rest of my crew behind.

A new alarm sounds over the top of the Red Alert. I recognize it as the signal that artificial gravity is about to be restored. Quickly I grab onto a rung of the ladder. My arms nearly get wrenched out of their sockets thanks to the sudden change in inertia, but I'm safely clinging to the ladder when the gravity comes back online. My body feels unnaturally heavy after several minutes of weightlessness, but I know I'll adjust quickly.

It looks like I've been able to travel up three decks in a short amount of time. If Durst and the other guard figure out which hatch I used and follow behind me, it will take them much longer to climb up the ladder the old-fashioned way. I just might make it.

I step off the ladder and starting crawling through a horizontal tube in the direction of the front of the ship. I estimate the Cargo Bay is 500 meters that way. But I've hardly gotten started when I hear soft noises ahead of me and to the right. I freeze.

I listen intently, but I can't hear anything now. Did I imagine it?

Then I hear a woman's voice calling out softly: "Chakotay!"

I frown. "Seska?"

There's a shuffling sound, and then she emerges from a horizontal tube intersecting mine, her brown hair flowing softly down her shoulders as she crawls toward me. Without saying a word, she throws her arms around me and presses her lips against mine. My relief is indescribable as my arms slip around her back in the darkness of the Jefferies tube. The ship has taken so much damage, I was afraid something might have happened to my crew.

"Where are the others?" I ask when she releases me.

Seska's eyes darken above her crinkled nose, and she hesitates for a moment.

"Chakotay…" she says slowly. "I overheard some of the Starfleet officers talking. One of the them said Section 4 took a direct hit."

I freeze. The Cargo Bay is in Section 4.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she whispers with glistening eyes, "but I don't think you'll find anyone in the Cargo Bay now."

I don't believe it. I can't.

"You weren't there when it happened?" I ask numbly.

She shakes her head. "I had escaped. Before the attack started. I was in the Jeffries tubes, trying to get to you." She swallows. "I guess I got lucky."

"We have to make sure-" I start to say, but I'm interrupted by another shipwide announcement. Janeway's voice rings out over the speakers, echoing in the confined space.

"All hands, this is the captain. Proceed to the escape pods and abandon ship. Repeat, abandon ship. Program the pods for a heading of 178-mark-4. We'll rendezvous in orbit of an M-class planet at those coordinates. Repeat, all hands abandon ship."

My heart sinks. I knew when the gravity failed that that last blow must have hit a vital system. The warp core? Could we be heading for a breach? But no, the computer isn't giving a countdown. It's more likely that life support is failing.

Seska looks alarmed. "The crew is going to use the Jefferies tubes to get to the escape pods! We have to get out of here, quick."

"I'm not going anywhere but the Cargo Bay," I say forcefully. I pull a panel off and rapidly tap the controls.

Seska's eyes flash with sudden anger. "We don't have time for that! Chakotay-"

I ignore her and moments later my dedication pays off: it seems the security grid is down, but the transporters are not. I quickly hack into the controls and beam us both to the corridor just outside the Cargo Bay.

The deck is littered with debris, and there are no running feet in the distance. If a torpedo really hit this section, then it's already been evacuated. I try to open the door to the Cargo Bay, but it's sealed. I grab the manual release, say a quick prayer, and pull.

By some miracle, it opens. I rush into the room, Seska on my heels, and we stare in shock at the cavernous room.

The Cargo Bay is burned out. There are scorch marks on the deck, the bulkheads, the storage containers, everything. Both the upper and lower decks. Despite that, the air is so cold that my breath shows. The emergency system must have briefly depressurized the bay to starve the fire of oxygen and prevent its spread. The air's breathable now, but as for my crew...

There are bodies everywhere, a few in Starfleet uniforms, most not. Some of them are burned to the point of unrecognizability, though others look unharmed. They aren't moving, though. I know what has happened, and a chill moves down my back that has nothing to do with the temperature. The fire was so sudden, so severe, that it consumed most of the breathable air. They suffocated to death.

I get down on my knees and roll one body over. It's B'Elanna Torres, and my hands shake as I press my fingers against her neck. I can't find a pulse. I start to move her limp body into position for resuscitation.

"It's too late," Seska says, and the terse words slash across my consciousness. She's holding a tricorder in her hands, scanning the room. "They're all dead. I'm sorry, Chakotay."

My knees are going numb on the frigid metal deck plates, but I reach over to lightly touch B'Elanna's cooling cheek. I'm too stunned to feel the pain, but I know it will come later. It always does. I've lost so many comrades in this cursed conflict. It never gets any easier. I think it never will.

"We should beam them to Sickbay," I say hoarsely. "Their doctors will have to evacuate them and treat them. It might not be too late to revive some of them." In the distance, I can hear the faint _thump-thump_ of deploying escape pods. Voyager is turning into a ghost ship.

"There _is_ no Sickbay," Seska says. "That section took a direct hit, too. All of Deck 5 is decompressed. Chakotay, there's nothing we can do for them. We have to go. _Now._ "

Reluctantly, I let her drag me away. As I jog behind her through the corridors, I find myself listing all their names in my head, one by one, as their faces flash before me. _Torres. Bendera. Suder. Chell. Paris._

No, not Paris.

Yes, Paris too, I realize. He was probably still in Sickbay, which is now exposed to the vacuum of space. He's dead too.

The fact bothers me more than I expected it to. Janeway cared about him. Maybe she knew something I didn't.

 _Henley. Jonas. Ayala._

Fixated as I am on my fallen friends, I let Seska take the lead through the deserted corridors, until finally she turns into an auxiliary control room. She strides over to a console and begins tapping the controls. I realize this is a torpedo launching station.

"What are you doing?" I ask her. "The escape pods are _that_ way."

Seska doesn't even glance up to see which way I'm pointing. "You know more about Starfleet security protocols than I do," she says, and I realize she's trying to hack into the station. "Give me a hand. We need to alter the timestamps so that it looks like Voyager fired at the Vetar first."

Her bizarre statement forces me to take note. "Are you _insane_?" I demand. "Do you have any idea what will happen if you do that?"

"Why don't you work on it while you enlighten me," she snaps.

I don't even touch the console. "If the investigation shows that Voyager started the fight," I say forcefully, "either Starfleet will be forced to crack down on the Maquis even harder to prove this was just the work of a rogue captain, or else the Cardassians will finally have the excuse they've been looking for to launch a full-scale attack on the entire Federation fleet! Either way, the Cardassians win!"

Seska laughs in a way I don't like. "So what's the problem? I thought you hated Starfleet. What do you care if the Cardassians blow them out of the sky? At least then no one will bother with _you_."

I can't believe her obtuseness. "How would a weaker Starfleet _help_ the colonists? I may not like it, but we need them to keep the peace!"

She ignores me. I look at the console and realize to my astonishment that she has actually succeeded in circumventing the security lockout and is in the process of altering the record of the torpedo launch. I had no idea she was so proficient with security systems; on the Val Jean she's always just assisted B'Elanna with the engines.

"Stop it!" I shout, pushing her hands away from the console. She whirls toward me, and before I can react she's pointing a weapon at me that I didn't even know she had.

"Stay out of my way, Chakotay," she snaps. "Don't you understand that you're not in charge anymore? You're lucky I took the time to come and find you. I could have just left you to die in the Brig. But we've had some good times together, haven't we? We could have a few more. All you need is a good slap to get that Maquis heart of yours beating again!"

It sure feels like I've been slapped, all right. I've just noticed that Seska isn't holding a phaser, Starfleet issue or otherwise. It's a disruptor, the kind that's banned throughout the Federation because its victims suffer such excruciating deaths as their bodies are torn apart from the inside out.

"Where did you get that?" I ask numbly. "Why are you doing this?"

"What, this little beauty? Found it lying around," she says casually. "As for _why_... there aren't enough hours in the day, Chakotay." She keeps the disruptor trained on me while she taps a few more controls and then makes an exasperated sound.

"We'll have to go to the Bridge to implement the changes," she mutters. And then, with a waggle of the disruptor, she makes me march to the turbolift.

I have no choice but to go along with it, but it all seems like a bad dream. Can this be the same woman I've shared intimacy with? I always knew Seska wasn't exactly the kind of woman a man writes home about, but she has always devoted herself to me. Her attentions filled a need in me that nothing else could, this past year. Why is she doing this?

"Bridge," she says, and the turbolift starts to rise. The barrel of the disrupter digs into my back.

"You aren't who I thought you were," I say, looking back at her, and although I mean it as an accusation, I can't keep the disappointment out of my voice.

She looks steadily at me, and for a second she looks a little sad.

"I doubt any woman could ever live up to your ideals, Chakotay," she says quietly. "Still, it was fun pretending that I _did_ , for as long as it lasted. Do you know, I used to wonder what it would be like to have your baby? I've never thought that about any other man before."

Her flattery has always worked on me… until now. "Do you always point disruptors at the prospective fathers of your children?" I ask bitterly.

"Only when I'm trying to save them from themselves," she replies coldly. "You can still walk out of this alive, Chakotay. All you have to do is obey me without question until we get off this ship. Understand?"

She's assuming that I want to walk out of this alive. I'm not sure I do. My friends are all dead. My ship was probably destroyed in the battle. Seska has just become the third person from my crew to betray me in the last three days, which means I'm apparently an utter failure at leading. I'm beginning to think the resistance will be better off without me.

It would have been much less painful if that Cardassian torpedo had ripped through the Brig instead.

When the turbolift stops, Seska pushes me forward through the door. The Bridge is littered with bodies, but there are two crewmembers still alive, standing at the helm together: one I haven't seen before - a young man wearing a gold uniform - and Captain Janeway. I realize that like any good captain, she's stayed behind long enough to ensure that all the escape pods successfully launch. There's no sign of the Vetar on the viewscreen. Apparently they only stuck around long enough to deliver the fatal blow to Voyager. Somehow I doubt Evek withdrew out of a sense of mercy. More likely, he wants it to look like Voyager was the aggressor, and that he and his crew barely escaped with their own lives. Seska's idiotic idea of tampering with Voyager's records is only going to reinforce that notion.

As one, Captain Janeway and her nameless crewman look back at us, startled by our sudden appearance on the Bridge.

It all happens so fast. Seska takes the disruptor off my back and points it at them.

" _Don't_ -" I start to shout, but it's too late. Seska presses the trigger.

I catch only a glimpse of the ensign who throws himself in front of his captain, but his face is seared into my mind in the instant before the disruptor bolt hits him in the chest.

Round face, inky black hair, dark oriental eyes. Young, very young. Almost too young to believe he's a serving officer.

And then he starts to burn.

It takes him an excruciatingly long time to die. I don't remember turning away, but I must have, because I'm spared the sight of his disintegration. There's no way to block the smell of burned flesh that drifts across the Bridge, however.

I don't make a conscious decision about what to do next, but I don't need to. I take no thought for prudence, or for safety, or for the love that once burned in my breast for Seska.

There's nothing left but blind, red-hot rage.

I explode in a flurry of fists. The disruptor hits the deck, and then Seska hits the bulkhead. It doesn't satisfy me, so I pin her roughly against the bulkhead, my forearm pressing against her throat with all my strength, denying her the very breath of life. It doesn't even occur to me to try to restrain myself. She fights back viciously, and she's much stronger than I expected her to be, but she can't match my fury. The face inches from mine is so familiar, but it's a stranger's face. I don't know her. I don't know her.

The moment seems to hang suspended for an eternity. Suddenly, Seska goes limp, pinned between me and the bulkhead. For a terrifying second, I think I've killed her, and the shock is like a bucket of water dumped over my rage. I didn't mean to… I didn't want...

Then I see Tuvok, standing several feet away, a phaser gripped in his left hand, calmly moving his aim from Seska to me.

My blood was pounding so loudly in my ears, I never heard the phaser fire. I let up the pressure on Seska's throat, and she slides down until she's sitting on the deck, slumped against the bulkhead, head lolling to the side.

I wait for Tuvok to shoot me too, but he's just standing there, pointing his phaser at me, doing nothing, wearing the same poker face Vulcans always wear. I crouch down and look at Seska, somehow reluctant to touch her again. There's no rise and fall of her shoulders. Tuvok must have set his phaser to kill.

Blood is trickling from Seska's split lip, where I first hit her. The sight sickens me, and even though she has betrayed me, it doesn't change the fact that for a time, I loved her, and I'm sorry that she's gone.

There's something strange about the blood.

That fact manages to call attention to itself, even through my grief and confusion. It should be bright red, the same for Bajorans as it is for humans. But the blood is dark. And not even dark red… it's _brown_.

There's only one race I know of with brown blood. I've spilled some of it myself, and I know what it looks like when a Cardassian bleeds. Stunned, I meet Tuvok's eyes. He's noticed the contradiction too, and his brows contract.

"Fascinating," he says, his voice going deeper and a little husky.

Fascinating is not the word for it. I can't even find the word that _does_ describe it. If I had known she was a Cardassian, I never would have let her on the ship, much less… much less...

Revulsion sweeps over me. I thought Seska loved me. I thought _I_ loved _her_. All that time, she had been working under Gul Evek's orders. How much of our relationship was a game to her? Just a ruse to earn my trust and steal Maquis secrets? But it went on for so long. It felt so real. Can anyone be _that_ good of a liar?

She said she wanted to have my baby.

She lied.

I can feel exhaustion down to my very bones, and I notice that the air in here is growing stale. Life support is failing. There's nothing I want more than to lay down and give into it - just peacefully drift off to the waiting arms of death - but Tuvok has other plans for me. "Stand up," he says.

"You might as well just kill me, too," I say, not budging.

"To kill an unarmed man who does not currently pose a threat to myself or others is not logical," Tuvok retorts.

I want to hate him, but I don't have the energy for it. I stand up and, at Tuvok's prompting, walk over to the helm with his phaser trained on me the whole way. In all the excitement, I had forgotten about Captain Janeway. She's lying on her back by the helm, her eyes open, her breathing labored. The smell of burned human flesh is still thick in the air. I'm shocked to see that the entire front of her uniform is scorched, with glimpses of red here and there where blood is seeping through the tattered fabric.

I thought her crewman had saved her life by taking the disruptor bolt himself, but it looks like the weapon was so powerful that some of the energy bled through his body and transferred to her. Janeway's conscious, but her eyes look glassy. It's a bad sign.

Tuvok kneels by Janeway's side. It's the first time I've ever seen uncertainty cross his face. His phaser wavers slightly, but he can't bring himself to put it down; unarmed or not, he doesn't trust me enough for that.

"I'll get a medkit," I say.

He considers me for a moment, dark eyes calculating.

"She brought me my medicine bundle," I say.

For all I know, Tuvok doesn't even know what I'm talking about, but for some reason he accepts this. He lowers his phaser and nods to me. I run over to the nearest console and get the kit. Tuvok takes the medical tricorder out and scans Janeway.

I can see the results of the scan over his shoulder, and it doesn't look good. With steady hands, Tuvok administers a hypospray, and then runs a dermal regenerator over her chest, trying to stop the bleeding.

Janeway grows a little more alert. She locks eyes with Tuvok and tries to say something, but she can't seem to draw the breath to do it. Finally, she lifts one small white hand, painfully grasps Tuvok's wrist, and pulls it toward her until his hand touches her face. I'm not sure what she's trying to do, but Tuvok seems to know. He puts down the dermal regenerator and cups her face in both his hands. Carefully, he adjusts his fingers so that his thumbs rest on her chin, his forefingers on her cheekbones, and his other fingers on her temples.

I hold my breath. I've never seen a Vulcan mind meld before. I've heard they are rarely shared between Vulcans, and even more rarely with other species. Janeway and Tuvok must have an unusual connection for him to be willing to open his mind to hers. I'm beginning to see why she was so protective of him. This is no mere command relationship, this is friendship.

"My mind to your mind," Tuvok says softly. "My thoughts to your thoughts."

There's no sound but Janeway's ragged breathing. Tuvok has a faraway look in his eyes. Suddenly I feel as though I'm the only person in the room. Several minutes tick by. Now I can feel my own lungs straining for oxygen, and the temperature on the Bridge is beginning to drop. Life support is nearly gone. There's no reason why I can't get in an escape pod now and reclaim my freedom - I doubt Tuvok would even notice if I left - but something transfixes me. My father always insisted on my respectful behavior during ceremonies and rituals, and my time at Starfleet Academy learning how to interact with alien cultures has only reinforced that tradition. I can't leave now.

It's gotten so cold in here that I start to shiver uncontrollably. Just when I start to wonder if I should shake Tuvok out of his trance and get us all to safety, he slowly removes his hands from Janeway's face. Her labored breathing halts, and with sorrow I see a change come over her face that I am all too familiar with.

She's gone.

Tuvok takes a long, deep breath and then slowly lets it out. Then he leans forward and gently works his fingers inside Janeway's collar. He draws out a delicate silver chain and unfastens it from around her neck. Threaded on the chain is a ring with a diamond winking in the flashing red lights.

Without a word, he clutches the chain in one hand and stands up.

"Come with me, Captain," he says to me. He sounds remarkably calm for a man who just watched a friend die. Maybe I should have been born a Vulcan. What would I give to have such control over my passions?

I nod, but first I have one last thing to do. I bend over Janeway and gently close her eyes with my fingertips.

"A-koo-chee-moya," I whisper. "May your spirit fly home to the skies of your forefathers."

The auxiliary lights on the Bridge are slowly dimming. The ship is dying. Without another word, Tuvok turns away from his captain's body and disappears through a nearby door. I follow him into what must be the captain's Ready Room. Tuvok stoops and pulls up a hatch in the floor and motions for me to go down first. I climb down the ladder into the escape pod below.

Tuvok isn't coming down after me. He crouches above the hatch and says, "Set the pod's coordinates to 23-mark-1. There is a Class-M planet with several trading outposts where you may find transportation to your next destination."

"Aren't you coming?" I ask, confused. Technically Tuvok is the captain now, but surely he would not think it logical to go down with the ship for no reason, especially if it means setting me loose.

"I will take another escape pod after I have downloaded Voyager's memory core and set the self-destruct," he says. "I must rendezvous with my crew and then inform Starfleet Command of these events."

"The Cardassians will say you fired first," I tell Tuvok. "Seska was planning to alter Voyager's records to show that."

"Then it is fortunate we stopped her," Tuvok says.

"They'll use this to try to escalate the conflict," I insist. "More people will die."

"We will do what we can to ameliorate the situation," Tuvok says calmly. It's what Starfleet always says when the Cardassians antagonize them, but for once it doesn't make me angry. There's something about this ship that has revived the old Chakotay, and I hate to leave the ship - and _him_ \- behind now.

There's just one more thing I have to know. "Why are you letting me go?" I ask Tuvok.

He pauses a moment before responding.

"It was one of Captain Janeway's last requests," he says.

And like a good subordinate, Tuvok's obeying his captain. I know he'll get in trouble for this with his superiors. There's no chance he'll lie about it to them, being a Vulcan. It bothers me, but not enough to insist that he take me back into custody. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with my life now, but Janeway seemed to think it was worth saving. Now I have to go find out why.

The last thing I see as Tuvok shuts the hatch above me is the diamond ring hanging from its chain in his hand. I think I know what Janeway's other last request was. I hope her death doesn't break her fiance. She isn't the kind of woman that's easy to forget.

I launch the escape pod, and then watch through its tiny port as Voyager's burnt and broken form shrinks into the distance. After a minute or so, I see Tuvok's tiny escape pod moving away from the ship.

There's a pause. A heartbeat of profound stillness.

Voyager explodes.

Brilliant rays of light burst out from the heart of the ship, and I squint against the blaze of a warp core breach. It's over in seconds. The white light fades, and Voyager is nothing but debris floating across the dark immensity of space.

It pains me to see such a beautiful ship destroyed, but Tuvok made the right decision. At least the Cardassians won't be able to return to pick over Voyager's bones, gleaning more Starfleet secrets than they deserve to know. They won't even be able to recover the body of their own spy. I can just imagine Evek's rage when he realizes Seska failed in her mission.

I set course for the coordinates Tuvok gave me. I don't know yet what I'll do when I get there, but I have a day or so to figure it out. Whatever it is, I know it will have to be something good and noble, even great. Janeway bought my life. I need to make sure I'm worth the price.

I picture her as I first saw her, hair pulled up in a perfect bun, blue eyes bright with intelligence, voice steady and fearless, and I know I'm already putting her death into the same category as my Maquis comrades': a tragedy of proportions too immense to ever really grasp.

A warrior, a captor, an ambassador of peace, a woman of mercy.

I'll never know why Janeway saved me. What made her think I deserved it? She must have known something I didn't.

I barely knew her.

But I can't forget her.

I don't think I ever will.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed this little foray into A/U. Let me know what you thought of it, good, bad or indifferent!


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